


go fuck yourself

by reincarnivore



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, ansem accepts his fate but he's not happy about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reincarnivore/pseuds/reincarnivore
Summary: i'm owing you back a favour, my old master
Relationships: ansem seeker of darkness | xehanort's heartless/ansem the wise
Kudos: 5





	go fuck yourself

Xehanort settles them in one of the side rooms of the mansion, with walls coated in shelves of books, a curious index finger trailing across a sea of familiar backings. An incredibly uncomfortable air stagnates the room as Ansem stands nearby, waiting for whatever the previously heartless wayward student of his deigns to be the next course of action. Ansem’s already told him- he doesn’t know where the girl is. But whether or not either of them believe that fact is up for debate, so here they stand, Xehanort waiting out the will of his old master. Master, he still calls him, but he knows not _ why _ at this point. No inkling memory of his former life seems to taint that feeling in the back of his mind- _ his  _ memory,  _ the apprentices _ memory. Some long, long years under someone’s vertible wing will tend to put that strain on heart, he finds. And here, as he searches for that girl of his own volition, he’s very much being that student rather than whatever fate has decreed him be for the past year or so.

“What are you doing, Xehanort,” Ansem breaks the silence with a low, rumbling voice, trying his best to posture despite the last thing he’d seen him do being tossing his new friend into the abyss without so much as a batted eye.

“Waiting to see if you’ll change your mind,” he shrugs, leveling a cold golden gaze to match the amber of his master. 

“I’ve told you what I know. We are here where I’ve stayed- and I’m certain you know well of any secrets that linger here.”

“I am aware- and I have looked myself. Somehow, these walls still do not deign to obey me. Not without your, delicate touch,” he turns on heel towards him, and Ansem does his best not to balk at the approach. This is very much a game of posturing, any ounce of fear he might be feeling required be shoved directly back into his insufferable heart. Until they’re nose to nose, and Ansem looks up to him dryly from the difference in height they have.

“There is nothing else here I can show you. You’re wasting your time.”

“Mn? Oh no, it’s never a waste of time,” his eyes lid, a hand reaching out to lean his weight on the table they stand by, “maybe a waste of time for the girl, but. Are you so incredibly uninclined to catch up with your old student? Even after I have so graciously pulled you from the realm of darkness with not so much as complaint?”

“And what of the girl you’d tossed so carelessly away?”

“My body might know of her- but _ I _ , do not. She will live,” he shrugs, “or she won’t. I remember too keenly a time you wouldn’t have been so taken aback by such a thing. It was, of course,  _ you _ who’d first lead us down the road to darkness, do you not remember? Your first experiments that set poor souls down the path to darkness.” His eyes open again, looking down with the barest hints of amusement on his face. A lip pulls up to show the barest sneer of a single fang.

“It has been a far long and trialed road away from that path I’d set us on. At least I have attempted to right my wrongs,” he barely rasps as his sentence trails to the end, gaze adverting momentarily to the floor before remembering to turn back to face him.

Xehanort eagerly catches him up in that moment, however. “Wrongs, wrongs,” he repeats, mockingly, “still, you think you are the decider in what is right and wrong.”

“You are no better suited for this.”

“So you think.” Slowly, his hand raises, catching Ansem’s gaze as it reaches for his face. He can’t help but flinch back from it, but Xehanort does not desist despite the way his master attempts to avoid his touch, not stopping until he’s cupped a thumb and index beneath his jaw, pressing the pad of his thumb to jugular. It makes it easy for him to play around with the angle of his head, and immediately, he presses Ansem to face him. 

“What else do you  _ want _ , Xehanort.”

A slow, methodical blink, as he takes in a thought or two to that. “To owe you a favour. And to scartch and itch, while I’m at it.”

He raises the barest of his eyebrow to that, “I don’t think I’m interested in any of your favours, whatever that entails.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. See, I have the strangest problem,” Xehanort hums, and another hand joins the first to fully cup under his old master’s jaw, looking him down in what Ansem might think is something soft- but that ultimately just comes out as wholly disturbing on his face. “Parts of me can’t manage to hate you.”

“The feeling is nowhere near mutual,” Ansem leans back so far he’s threatening to fall backwards, but Xehanort has him caught quite adeptly.

Gently rubbing thumbs over his cheeks, “Thankfully enough, I do not think I have ever considered what others think of me. You must know by now that you’re entirely under my thumb at the moment, yes?”

“Figuratively and literally, unfortunately,” Ansem rumbles ,a pitiful feeling sinking in his stomach with each pseudo affectionate pet to his face. 

“As you’ve said, however, I can’t be caught wasting my time, can I?” Slowly, Xehanort releases his face, but only to replace the grip to Ansem’s arm, forcefully pulling him turned around and towards the table despite his attempts at struggling away from his grasp. “You’ve already admitted you’ve lost, why fight?” Leaning down from behind him now, Xehanort exhales quiet, rumbling laughter just behind his ear.

“I’m surprised you think after all this that I’d simply fold for you.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t, it wouldn’t be as satisfying if you did. Not even speaking a word to tell me to stop, though, hmn,” his hands wander down the front of his still jacketed chest, but soon enough, Xehanort is reaching for the zipper, tugging it down, slipping off gloves to reach bare hand to bare flesh.

Ansem tries desperately not to shiver, “I know what you do with begging now, as no compliance lead you to sparing that girl earlier- so now you will get no such useless crying from me.”

“Ohhh,” Xehanort shudders with quiet laughter again, “no fun, then.”

“I’m sure you’ll make due fine,” Ansem rasps, hands leveling on the table ahead of him while his posture stiffens under the assault of two wandering hands. 

“Very true.” Nosing into the crux of Ansem’s neck, Xehanort makes a bid to bite into his skin there, but he receives an instinctual shoulder shoving for his efforts. A grunt of discomfort for that, snapping his teeth, but he has a solution for that, and one hand reaches up chest, under armpit until he grasps a handful of hair. Roughly tugging his head to the side, Ansem hisses in pain from the sudden roughness, and again when teeth meet skin, shocking pain and  _ something else _ down his spine, shaking his legs beneath him. He tries to root himself to the table for balance with his hands, but as Xehanort sucks and bites at the sensitive skin of his neck, a hand releases and pulls back to grasp behind him, bunching a wad of loose jacket fabric in his fist. There’s no uprooting Xehanort from his place, however, and he heats quickly, feral, his free hand reaching for the button of Ansem’s pants. Tugging them just down enough to reveal underwear, reaching beneath for a few eager strokes of his palm before pulling all fabric out of his way. 

Swallowing roughly, “I feel obligated to ask again why you feel so compelled to do this,” Ansem rasps, trying hard to stifle his instinct not to curve his hips into the pressure, but still occasionally failing, catches the head of an over sensitive cock on the pad of Xehanort’s palm. He can’t aptly recall the last time he’d… well.

“I told you,” he mumbles into the wet skin and bruises he’s been leaving about his neck and shoulder, “I’m owing you a favor. You don’t remember?”

“Apparently not.”

“You had me like this once,” Xehanort releases his biting grip, but with that handful of hair, pushes down on his old master until he takes the hint and bends himself over the table. It takes the weight off his arm, he supposes, but then Xehanort flips up the ass of his jacket, and he receives a cool breeze where his pants had been tugged down past the crux of his ass. Pushed down by that grip still, Xehanort presses his still clothed but very restrained cock to that bare section of ass, rubbing down on him, leaning to whispering into his ear, “Though you were in that first crux of darkness. Me, still so innocent and _ naive _ . And who was  _ I _ to say no to my  _ gracious master _ , king of our castle, when he’d pressed me down across his desk, just, like, this...” He purrs each word, grinding down on him with each ending syllable. 

Again, Ansem swallows, eyes squinting in thought as he desperately tries to recall the moment- and  _ then does _ . A red streaking hot across his cheeks when he’s greeted to the memory of young Xehanort begging beneath him. “I-... I didn’t…”

“Ohh, oh no,  _ you did _ . I’ll applaud you now, it helped show me the strength of darkness very well.” He leans back just a touch, a hand pushing between them to free himself from his pants before he pushes them together again, rubbing cock between the bare cheeks of his ass, slicking a drooling line of pre between them. Just teasing them there, though, grinding into him like a heated dog, pressing him hard into the table. “I’ll continue reminding you of all your  _ wrongs _ , my old master.”

Reaching forwards, Xehanort shoves the digits of his free hand to Ansem’s mouth, pressing against his lips roughly until he gets the hint to drop jaw. He pushes his fingers to the back of Ansem’s mouth until he nearly gags, but knowing better than to bite, Ansem just jerks his head back. He’s still so tight under Xehanort’s other grip, though, and he can barely move to escape the choke of his digits. The way Xehanort plays with the struggling muscle of his tongue has Ansem drooling heavily, one thick drop of fluid dripping a string from the fat of his bottom lip to the table beneath him until Xehanort deigns to be satisfied, and pulls back. Not just to play with his mouth, however, now coated with saliva; the only reprieve from pain Ansem will be offered when those finger replace themselves to the tight ring of his entrance being what he’s given. That, of course, stiffens Ansem’s posture again, but Xehanort isn’t interested in letting him adjust, and that finger presses in despite all best attempts to stop it. A leg kicks up out of complete instinct, but Xehanort is unphased by this, bearing his weight down to cease Ansem’s struggling enough that there’s no squirming away from any insertion. He should feel gracious Xehanort is offering him anything at all, rather than just shoving the length of him in and uncaring to the crippling pain that would be. Not to be without any pain, however, because the moment it seems Ansem relaxes enough for the first digit just to fit, in goes the second, and then third, simple waiting for any inch of loosening rather than avoiding discomfort. As he’s spread further, Ansem can’t help but creak his growing distress, a restrained cry sneaking from his throat, burning at his eyes.

“I thought you said no useless crying,” Xehanort teases, reaching around inside with those prying fingers until he hits a nerve, and Ansem struggles again, unable to reply.

His finger remove with sharp exhale from the penetrated, his posture falling weak onto the table he’s now fully laying prone against. His legs shake beneath him from strain, one stood up on the booted tips of his toes as he struggles to contain the pain. However, a confused tone whines from his wheezing breath when the grip on his hair releases, drags down his clothed back until he’s touched no more, and still in that confusion, Ansem cranes his neck back to see what Xehanort is doing. Looking at his handiwork, is apparently what, and hands return to either side of his ass to spread apart and look at that under stretched hole. A strange thought overcoming him, and Ansem nearly straightens when Xehanort sinks to his knees. A sharp stiffening of his posture grips him when the hard rough of fingers is replaced by the pliable, warm wet of a tongue. 

“W- _ , why _ ,” Ansem absolutely shudders, because that finds itself on the somehow worse side of  _ feeling good _ . His still flexed leg kicks out in protest, but a hand grips over an ankle and easily shoves it back down to the ground. 

Mumbling into him, “Stop complaining,” but he laaaaughs, hoarse and quietly, before continuing. Shoving that wet flat of muscle as far as it reaches, relishing in the way it makes Ansem squirm in a wholly different way. 

His sigh of relief is more unrestrained when Xehanort stops, his chest heaving with each breath; he’s interrupted with a sharp inhale when Xehanort gives his still half-hard self a few teasing little strokes before standing again. “I did not do that…” Ansem whines, his own hand sneaking past his body to give himself a few uncomfortable strokes out of subconscious wanting.

“Mnn,” Xehanort replaces himself pressed to Ansem’s back again, purring into his ear, “maybe not. But you also used lube. I am without, so. Enjoy what I give you, since I’ve decided to give you anything.”

“I will enjoy none of this.”

“Your cock begs to differ.”

Grinding himself between his ass again, Xehanort’s cock now catches on the loosened hole with each pass over, and he makes a bid to penetrate him without the guidance of his hands. They’re busy being occupied with wandering up the bare parts of Ansem’s body again, slinking up the bottom of his coat to worry lines of nails into the skin of his back, gripping down on his hips. With patience, and when he forces Ansem’s waist firmly down on the table, he finds a good angle, and presses, earning him another sharp exhale of pain from beneath. Whatever pleasure he’d received from Xehanort’s mouth earlier immediately peels back sharply into pain, but Xehanort patiently pushes himself in, slowly but surely, waiting for moments his master’s breath settles back down, until he’s fully hilted. Ohhh, he thinks he likes this very much, all warm and tight around him, leaning back down till he’s pressed to his back and grinding his hips down to squeeze out every millimeter of penetration he can gleen from the prone form beneath him. A hand wanders up Ansem’s chest until it catches the edges of nipple, teasing him with a rough squeeze, while the other finds itself weaved into hair once again. Wrenching Ansem’s neck to the side so he can continue making a sea of marks on his skin there, frying his brain with over stimulation when Xehanort continues to move his hips backwards, starting a low, drawling fuck. It gets easier with each jostling thrust, but never really any more pleasurable, only loosening him to the point that it feels less like he’s about to be turned inside out by each pull back of Xehanort’s cock. 

Xehanort’s breath catches rasping and heated in Ansem’s ear, thoroughly enjoying himself, taking every inch of him he wants, easing his thrusts with a thick sheet of pre that spreads from the tip of his oozing cock. Ansem is trying desperately not to enjoy any moment of this, but despite it all, Xehanort’s mouth sucking bruising into his skin, the hand worrying itself into the sensitive tip of his chest, to the soft skin of his hip. The way he can’t help but move his hand over himself, desperate to feel anything other than the pain that shoots down his legs with each over stretching Xehanort’s cock pulls him apart with. Ansem’s mouth hangs open, and despite what he’d rather do, his throat has other plans, and soon enough he’s moaning out with each thrust, keening every time he manages to press hard against that bundle of nerves inside him, still drooling thick drips of saliva onto the tables surface beneath his face. Tired and pained, he can’t help but cry, but it comes out in sob-less tears barely trickling down the inner edge of his eyes, sniffling snot down his nose. 

It feels like it takes forever, but barely ten minutes pass before Xehanort’s thrusts get rocky, unruly beneath his legs. His paces stutter heavily in pleasured strain, each downforce slapping skin to skin, literally pushing cries from Ansem’s chest when Xehanort bears down his weight, until he hits peak and hilts in fully, wholly penetrating him. Pushing and pushing in his hips until Ansem’s thighs are crammed painfully into the edge of the table, his hair gripped like a vice to hold him in place beneath while he shoots a well earned load into the warm wet of his insides. Heated from climax, Xehanort bites down hard on shoulder, worrying teeth in until he feels the copper welling of blood beneath his teeth, but Ansem has little left to offer in the way of whining out his pain, chest heaving in suffering breath from the ordeal entirely. When he feels his last pulse of cum subside, so does the grip of his mouth, but he stays close enough to skin his breath bubbles saliva and spit with each exhausted breath as he collects himself, slowly. 

Ansem is completely disinterested in moving in any way, even as Xehanort slowly removes himself from his entrance, with a wet pop of over stretched flesh. He feels absolutely gaped, Xehanort being no small fit, but as he tries to instinctively squeeze himself shut, that thick drip of cum makes itself down the crux of his ass, dripping down his thigh incredibly uncomfortably. 

“There, favour owed,” Xehanort rasps, slowly rising himself from his press against Ansem’s back, and even though he’s struggling to keep the fluids inside of him, Xehanort tugs his pants back up like nothing had even occurred. 

Slowly, Ansem’s arms raise over his head, covering it in discomfort, unable to will himself to do much else. There’s nowhere to go, it’s going to hurt too much to walk, so he’s absolutely stuck there, hoping by some will of the gods, Xehanort will just leave.

To his credit? He does, disappearing into a corridor.. It’s obvious Ansem either doesn’t know, or won’t tell him where the girl has gone, and since he’s a busy man with a grocery list of other things to do, he can gripe Ansem about it later, if he gets the time. Since the war is bearing down on him, perhaps the time will never come. 


End file.
